Twilight Fading
by DMReturns
Summary: When a single change in history shatters the flow of time beyond repair, Link is hurled into the most dangerous journey he's ever faced. The sun is slipping behind the horizon, and the twilight slowly fades.
1. One Man's Prison

We have all heard the story of the Twilight Princess.

The Hero of Time and his Twili companion joined forces against insurmountable odds and somehow, conquered Ganondorf's army and saved not just Hyrule, but the Realm of Twilight as well.

For the purpose of this tale, I have taken the liberty to change a single event in the course of history, a change that I believe will make our hero's journey much more… tragic. Or epic. I'll allow you to decide.

And who am I?

You'll find out in due time.

* * *

Link struggled through the miniscule tunnel that lead to the Ordon Spring. It was smaller than he'd remembered, or rather, he was larger. But he was in a foul mood, and so the blame belonged solely to the passage itself. It wasn't that he resented Ilia's love for animals. But with the task before him, the journey so far away from the village- to Hyrule Castle no less, his mind was flooded with worry. A conflict with Ilia was the last thing he needed. Truthfully, Link wished she'd show him the littlest affection. He watched the way she treated the horses, her soft hands brushing them with utmost care. Her demeanor towards him was polite, perhaps at times more than just friendly, yet he had always remained her friend, rather than partner. Maybe as he left the village, she'd give him a kiss to take with him on his journey… Link's thoughts were interrupted by voices from within the Spring. 

"I had no idea... I hadn't heard the details about Talo's capture..." It was Ilia. Her voice was worried, the soothing, low soprano tempered by wavering uncertainty. "But, Colin..." The young boy in question boldly positioned himself between Ilia and the gate. He stood an entire head shorter than the girl, yet looked as if he was lecturing her. Link finally squeezed through the tunnel, grunting in frustration as his entire midsection popped through the hole. Epona quickly brushed passed Ilia and began to nuzzle his head. Ilia gave a half-smile.

"So you still prefer your master over me, huh, Epona?" She felt the slightest bit dejected, but understood the special bond Link and Epona shared. From the moment they met, it was as if they were old friends who'd been together as long as anyone could remember. "Don't worry about your horse, Link." She knew she was the only one who needed to be told that. "Fortunately, it looks like the injury isn't too serious. You two can go on together." She was a bit embarrassed- partially because her jealousy seemed to take a backseat to feelings for both the horse and the boy. She'd always wondered about Link. He was courteous, and at least appeared to be interested in her. But it seemed like whenever she approached him he grew especially quiet. She wasn't sure if it was out of politeness or discomfort. She decided then to give him a kiss when he left the village, to see how he'd react.

"But, Link..." she began, watching him handle Epona for a moment. "Can you at least promise me this?" He stopped, and turned to her. Their eyes met, and for a moment both stopped. She continued. "No matter what happens on your journey, don't try to do anything...out of your league. Please." She took a deep breath, having said what needed to be said. Suddenly, Ilia felt a deep pang of sadness, finally realizing that this was the last time she would see Link for a long time. She'd miss him terribly. "Just come home safely." She finished, turning her head to hide a gleam that looked like a tear.

Link opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly a rumbling from the path next to the forest jarred the three youths to attention. The rumble grew to a roar, which crashed through the gates to the spring and overtook the three present. Link was hardly able to draw his wooden sword, when a titanic boar galloped by him. For a moment his world was a blur, a green hand here, a red eye there. He saw Ilia collapse, and watched as Colin was lifted off the ground. In an instant, the side of his head seemed to implode, some unseen blunt object knocking him off his feet and smashing him into the ground. Link heard the sound around him drown in the thick blackness that rose in his mind.

And then, nothing.

* * *

When Link awoke, there was little to remind him of the struggle that had just taken place. His hair was sticky, and matted with blood. As soon as he recognized his own consciousness, he leapt to his feet. The spring was tranquil. Link took deep breaths, trying to piece together what had happened. He dashed out of the trampled gate, looking to the path that lead back to Ordon. A translucent barrier loomed over the pass. After approaching the wall breathlessly, Link hesitated. Nothing made sense anymore. Where were Colin, Epona and Ilia? What was going on in the village? Before he could ponder any further, a massive hand erupted from the obstruction. Once again, Link's world was black chaos.

This time his surroundings had changed. Rather than the cool spring of his home, Link found himself lying on a cold stone floor, with bits of grime and dirt caught in his hair. He felt unlike ever before, as if his entire body had been rearranged. He then attempted to stand, but found the task impossible. His legs felt too weak to support his own weight. Link tried no less than five times to pull himself up, before cursing his situation with a growl. He saw a light several feet in front of him, and began to crawl towards it. He found this much easier than walking. After only a half-dozen steps, a force pulled him backwards. It felt like a shackle. Link turned to look back at it. In the dim light of the torch ahead of him, Link spotted something that terrified him. A paw. A tail. Link jumped out of fright, but found whatever it was continued following him. He shouted in anger, and found it came out a bark. He froze. His canine assailant stopped in response.

Hearing the drip-drop of a leak, Link turned and crawled towards it. Confusion gripped him. Despite the events, he felt as if he were more aware than ever before. He was sure it was dark, and yet he could see much better than usual. He felt his paw touch water, and gazed downward. An animal stared back at him. Link took a moment, almost stupefied, to scan the features of this beast. It had a soft, young face. Deep blue eyes, much like his own. The same gaunt, lean structure. He noticed the triangle mark on his forehead, and remembered his own hand. Suddenly realization flooded through him, and he screamed- rather, howled.

He had become a wolf.

For a day, at least it seemed, time meant nothing in this dank, sepia-washed castle; Link cowered in the corner, refusing to believe any of this was more than a sick nightmare. Perhaps as a human, he would have cried, yet all he was able to accomplish in this state was a pitiful, low whimper. After the sharp panic died into dull sadness, Link began to replay the events in his mind. What struck him most was the vivid image of Ilia falling. There was a beast. Something green, wielding a colossal weapon. Yet she fell as if shot by a bow, or a sling. A deep yearning grew inside the young wolf. Ilia was in trouble. Maybe she was nearby. Maybe she was dead. The panic returned. He had to do something. Link struggled against the chain, feeling it tightly clamped around his leg. He lunged forward, and collapsed. It was completely secured.

The next seven days were a cycle of futile war for Link. Every time he struggled against the chain and failed to break it, he grew more determined to shatter his bonds. The first day he tried simply lunging away from the wall, hoping to at least dislodge a brick. The second he chewed the third chain, after noticing a small crack in the center. On the third, the frantic wolf began to swing his leg, in an attempt to crack the chain against the wall. For the fourth day, Link simply lay still and inspected the shackle, trying to discover some way to escape. The next day he tugged on it with all his might, only to tire himself within the first six hours. Day six, he tried to utilize the rocks around him to smash the chain- and found his canine paws quite lacking. The final day he simply pulled dejectedly while lying flat and resting.

After the week of vain attempts to escape had passed, Link had reached the end of his rope. He wasn't hungry, or thirsty. Just tired. Tired of struggling against impossible odds. Tired of trying to find logical explanations for what had happened that day. Tired of seeing Ilia's body fall to various devices. He felt his eyes droop shut, and settled in for a rest that he would not wake up from. For a moment, in his mind, he saw Ordon Village, and remembered the peaceful life that seemed to be real only long ago.

Soon afterwards, a small blue mote floated through the barred window and balanced itself on the slumbering wolf's nose. In an instant, Link felt a surge of memories, and suddenly found himself in a different place entirely. The visor of a helmet obstructed his eyes. The make of the surrounding area was similar to where he was currently, with the same stone and emblems, however it was much more ornate, and looked to be in better condition. He felt as if he had no body, or was seeing an event through someone else's eyes. Ahead of him, armed soldiers stood at ready, facing a colossal opened door. A tall, snakelike man in full armor raised a gauntlet and pointed towards the back of the room. Dark creatures rushed forward, disintegrating those close to the entry. "It is time for you to choose: surrender or die." A deep voice heralded the end of all those present. It took on a mocking tone. "Oh yes, a question for all the land and people of Hyrule..." It cocked its head. "Life? Or death?!"

Link's feral eyes opened with a start. He began to unconsciously growl. Somehow he felt certain- he knew. It had a name. Zant. Zant, the Twilight King.

* * *

The next year sped by. Link, fueled by his hatred for Zant, refused to allow himself to die. He found that wherever he was, his bodily needs had been slowed greatly. Once a week, he'd drink the water that had accumulated underneath the leak, and once a month, he'd capture whatever bugs or creatures he could find crawling around in his cell and devour them. He became accustomed to his wolfish form, comfortable with it, even. He understood the nuances of his teeth and claws, and practiced tearing into flesh many times.

In a year's time, Link's mind returned solely to escape. He wanted to kill his enemies, and save his friends- though he could hardly even remember their names anymore. However, chained to a wall in a forsaken dungeon, he was hardly able to kill or save anyone. It was around that time when the wolf noticed a sprout coming up through the cracks of the dungeon floor. It was unlike any plant he'd ever seen before; the trunk was thick, long, and spiked at the top. The plant had no leaves. Within a few days it had doubled in size, and remained strong. Link noticed that the cracks it had grown through had expanded, and upon closer inspection, found it was actually pushing the stone apart. Immediately a plan formed in his mind. He lifted his back leg and, with some difficulty, caught the chain on the sharp sprout. Using his front paws, he packed the third link down on the trunk. If whatever plant it was continued growing, he would be able to escape.

Within 48 hours Link awoke to a creaking. The crack in the chain had grown, and a piece of it had dropped off and clattered against the ground. He could no longer sleep, so excited by his discovery that he could only watch and wait with bated breath. Soon, the creaking returned, and Link knew he was near freedom. And then, all at once, the tree shuddered just a bit. The wolf heard a sharp noise, and looked downward at the chain. The third link had snapped. Link lifted his leg. It moved past its previous limits.

With a strange noise of celebration, the unchained canine bounded across the jail cell. He flipped off the walls, felt the wind of his extreme movement cool him. He promised himself never to take the simple pleasures of life- like being able to move around, for granted. After traversing the cell completely, he came to the bars in front of him. Suddenly his excitement was muted, as he realized that his struggle might have been in vain. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a patch of dirt that passed underneath the bars and into the lit hallway. The wolf attacked this piece of ground, digging underneath and beyond his final obstacle.

Link's excitement returned, and he sped down the hallways of the castle like never before. He managed to forget, if only for a moment, the events that had placed him in his current situation. Yet, at the back of his mind, his doubts and fears remained. His worry for Ilia. His hate for Zant. At the end of the grimy passageway, Link found an open door, one that appeared to have been worn down by time. Beyond it laid an unlit tunnel. The same stone pattern covered the walls. In the near distance, Link heard the sound of flowing water.

Traveling into the tunnel, Link discovered it was some sort of canal, perhaps a sewage system once used to keep Castle Town clean. His senses allowed him to pick up on the presence of strange blue motes surrounding him. One drifted miserably in the corner. Upon approaching it, Link was shocked to find it was actually a human being. He had the armor of a Hylian guard, but his cuirass was stained with blood. "Please, no…" he began, "Do whatever you want. Just don't kill me. Please…" Link watched the spirit dissipate into thin air. It disturbed him to know that Zant and his minions had defeated even the guards of the castle.

Link stifled his doubts and pressed onward. There had once been a series of gates in the canal system, but they'd long since rotted away, leaving only dreary vestiges of a once functional complex. After exploring the tunnels thoroughly, Link came to another door, and beyond it, a demolished set of winding stairs. Something like sunlight filtered through the cracked walls, pushing Link to move forward. He jumped between the pieces of staircase, nearly falling to his death more than once. His emotions ran wild as he came closer and closer to the top of the castle. He hefted himself over the final ledge, and found that in front of him, a half open door led outside. Outside. Back to Ordon. Back to the home he once knew. He pushed the door open with his nose.

When Link took in what he saw past that door, he could only howl in agony.

* * *

Dark here. Certainly good to be back at FF. Here's to a new story, and hopefully better writing. 


	2. Another Man's Paradise

The young hero spent many of his days in that abandoned castle. It was a lonely existence, of that I am sure.

I admit I delighted in his struggle.

Watching him fight against the course nature had set for him reminded me of an ant clinging to a leaf in a river, only seconds away from a waterfall.

The ant will surely be destroyed, but because he is so minute, he is unable to grasp the grand crescendo so close ahead of him, and instead fights to survive the situation that he is in.

Sometimes, if only for a moment, the ant actually believes he is saved.

* * *

**SEVEN YEARS LATER**

The wolf rested lazily in the deep brown shade of the black, sharp tree. It had extended up through the ground, vines curling around anything close enough to reach. Its leaves fluttered softly in a breeze that came from somewhere far away, and they seemed to wave goodbye to it as it continued on its journey. The castle, once a harsh, foreboding structure, had become something else entirely. The calm world of dusk, of twilight, had conquered the cold stone and returned it to nature. Now it was the sanctuary of an old wolf.

The wolf had once been young; his face soft and gentle, with smooth, clean fur. Now his blue eyes were mixed with a dull gray tone, fur tangled and rough, with cuts and scars left about his body. He was a relaxed wolf, and seemed to be as in touch and capable as any that had ever lived. But looking deep into his eyes, it was easy to see a lucid, dignified intelligence. In the way he walked, examined the world around him, even in how he howled at the unchanging sky, a distinctly human quality was present.

After resting for most of the day, the wolf lifted himself up and began his patrol. He strode through the courtyards, looking over the now familiar foliage. A long tree, like a willow, stretched from the ground to the parapets, and gave him access to the higher areas of the castle. The place had once been crawling with vicious beasts, with bats lining the dark stone, immense birds of prey soaring through the skies, and further predators on the ground. Now few appeared, as if they recognized the old wolf as the new master of the domain. It was a peaceful place, walled off and secluded as it was.

The wolf sometimes worried that there was something he'd forgotten. He once had a great urge to escape this place. For days he'd claw at the massive doors in the courtyard, howling in anguish when his efforts amounted to naught. Eventually the memories of the world he used to live in faded. Some remained. He remembered a girl who wore a necklace of horns. Her face was the clearest memory of all. Some nights he would see her in his dreams, and she would speak to him. Her voice was pleasant, but he could never quite make out what she was saying. Instead it sounded like the low hum of rushing water. Despite the fact the he didn't even know if she was real, he almost felt as if he missed her.

The days for the guardian of the castle were measured in drops of water. He didn't remember how, but long ago, the wolf had found a way to measure time. He put a large bowl underneath the leak in his original cell, and found that when it filled, an entire day had passed. Every day, he would pick the bowl up with his mouth, empty it, and set it down in preparation for a new day. And then he would go to sleep in the same cell he'd woken up in so long ago, upon the many leaves of the plant that had once broken his shackle. As another day drew to a close, the wolf settled in to sleep, as he felt the calm nature of the dusk world deep within himself.

Of course, the man within him remained, and felt that its freedom was near.

* * *

That very day, through the window in his cell, another blue mote danced about. It curled around the bars, bobbed across the air, and finally came to rest upon the nose of the sleeping wolf. In his mind, he became aware of something very close, only this time, it felt as if the events were taking place now, rather than recorded from an earlier age. The world went black, and then became the picture of a city.

The fountain in the center of Castle Town had been transformed completely. Now it was a pedestal, an ominous monolith covered in runes and writings long forgotten by time. The night that hung over the town was much like twilight, the myriad of torches being prepared for the occasion illuminating the plaza. Around the edges of the dais, armored beings stood impassively, with their varied weapons readied to strike. The immeasurable onlookers waited patiently for the beginning of the ceremony. In the center of the altar, a colossal circle made of what looked like obsidian lingered incomplete. Its final piece sat upon a smaller platform in front of it. Closer to the edge was a tall man who looked like a snake. His steel helmet and ornate robe covered whatever parts of his body that would have been visible.

As the final torch was lit, the snake-man began to speak. "For seven long years we have awaited this day!" The crowd cheered with affirmative responses, and the man continued. "I ask of you here- who is prepared to devote themselves to their saviour!?" The roaring approval only grew. "Who among this gathering would give themselves completely to our master?!" Every soul present cheered. "Then I give to you faithful believers the gift you were promised. I will show to you our hallowed liege! The hand that has fed all of this land! Children of Hyrule, I present to you our God-King, THE ALMIGHTY LORD GANONDORF!"

With a wave of his hand, the snake-man levitated the final piece of black stone into its place on the circle, then fell to his knees and began chanting. The monolith began to glow with an unearthly light. The roaring of the throng of worshipers was completely drowned out by a thunderous rumbling. The fires around the dais began to glow deep blue, and floated away from their torches. As the deafening sound of the ritual reached its climax, the obsidian seemed to melt away, leaving only an infinite blackness. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, and then all at once, a being stepped through the portal.

He looked nothing like an ordinary man. Standing several heads taller than even the snake-man, he cast an intimidating figure in the center of the pedestal. His armor was black, steel strapped to steel upon his powerful body. His complexion was the deep olive green of the ancient desert-dwellers spoken of in legends, completed by the strong nose and short fire-red hair. Cruel, dark eyes finished his menacing countenance, and with them he surveyed the populace that now threw itself at his mercy. At the sight of this worship, his face was split by wicked mirth, his sharp white teeth showing his approval of those fawning below.

The snake-man stood and raised his arms high in the air. "Our lord is here!" The entire crowd dropped to their knees. With a flourish, the snake-man levitated two objects into his grasp. The first was a sizeable helmet of the same stone as the circle. "We have gifts for our master! The first is the essence of the evil that has plagued this land- The Fused Shadow!" The helmet was set down upon the dais. The next item was an object wrapped in white cloth. The fabric burnt away, revealing an entity so bright it was unable to be seen. "And the second, the tool with which the previous, corrupted rulers controlled Hyrule… The Triforce of Wisdom!"

The memory ended abruptly.

* * *

The wolf awoke with a start, partially because of the startling apparitions he'd just seen, and partially because the castle seemed to be shaking from its very roots. The strange, discolored atmosphere began to fade. The trees and plants began to disintegrate, leaving only ruined stone in their wake. The wolf began to panic, running through the old canals that led outside. Up the staircase he climbed, rising to the parapets with haste. The top of the castle was racked with wind. Suddenly the area around the castle, the town, was visible. The wolf saw the procession make its way towards the palace. He could just barely make out the snake-man, and the man named Ganondorf.

As he watched the procession come ever closer, a strange feeling bubbled inside the wolf. He felt as if he were rising off the ground, as if something was changing deep within his body. He began to feel very light, and faint. He blinked, and found himself stumbling towards the edge. He blinked again, and noticed the ground beneath him wasn't there anymore. The dark stone had left him behind, and the water of the moat seemed to rise up to greet him. He met it with a splash. He struggled in the deep water, flailing about and pushing himself closer to the edge. Finally he found rope, and hoisted himself up, biting the cord to stay on it.

He collapsed onto the stone path of the town proper, and attempted to dash into an alley, succeeding only in tripping over himself into the shadows. For a while he rested, trying to understand what exactly had just taken place. He was too confused by the circumstances to be excited about even his own freedom. He wiped his face off with his hand, and- He wiped his eyes again, then looked at his palm. It was pink, and fleshy. Human. He looked downward at his body, and found long, muscular, human legs, and a human torso, with worn, ragged human clothes.

The man had no idea what was taking place. What was this change? What had happened to him? As he peered down he noticed a shackle on the ground of the alley. He carefully picked it up, and inspected every nuance. Memories came flooding back. The girl's face. A young boy. A man with a sword. Zant. Zant the Twilight King. The man opened the shackle, lifted his arm, and snapped it shut around his wrist like a bracer. The three pieces of chain completed his memories.

His name was Link.

Through the alleyway, Link noticed the procession coming closer to the palace. He saw Zant. He saw Ganondorf. He felt their evil presence, and unconsciously rubbed his hand. "You there!" came a muffled voice. Link turned towards the noise. A guard wearing a full set of Hylian armor approached him, sword drawn. "The convoy area is not for beggars and filth like you. Surrender yourself and come with me." Link was focused completely on the sword he held. It reminded him of somewhere he'd been, long ago. "Are you listening to me, scum?!" The guard pulled his sword back to strike. Link took several steps forward quickly, and grabbed the guard's sword arm. The armored man hardly had time to yell before his arm was ripped completely off. As he collapsed onto the ground screaming, Link inspected the sword, sniffing it once and biting the blade. He removed the dismembered hand and swung the sword vertically. The clean way it cut through the air made Link smile. The guard began to grab at his legs, now. Link looked down at the pitiful enemy, whose helmet had clattered off into the shadows.

"What are you…?" asked the one-armed man.

Link shrugged, and drove the sword into the man below him.

* * *

After dispatching the guardsman, Link's focus turned back to Ganondorf and Zant. He held the blade at his side, and began to stride towards the procession. Blood dripped off the outstretched sword, leaving a crimson dotted line in its wake. The feral swordsman bared his teeth as he came ever closer to the open road, and his targets. 

"Now why would you go and waste that?"

Link turned again, expecting another man to attack him.

"Why would you waste a perfectly good sword arm like the one you have there? And one that hates the false King, oh my, that's rare."

It was a heavy-set woman, one Link had never seen before. She looked weary, tired, and too old to be getting in this kind of trouble, though her eyes still had the gleam of youth. She daintily stepped over the corpse Link had just finished with. "Not that I don't admire your handiwork, sugar, but I think you might be able to make more of an impact if you play your cards right."

The rugged swordsman began to lose interest and continued his march.

"Dammit. Listen, if you want to kill those two, this ain't the way!"

Link stopped.

"Think about it. You really sure you can just march out there and slice 'em up? I mean, you've got the King of Twilight and someone with the better part of the goddamned Triforce. Making a plan is probably the only way we'll get anywhere."

The words began to make more sense to Link, as his knowledge of language returned.

She noticed her words were having an effect, and smiled wide, leaning in a bit closer. "There's more of us. More people that hate Zant and Ganondorf. They want to kill those bastards too."

That struck a chord with Link. He imagined others who'd been imprisoned like him.

"I can show you where we stay. You can join. Do you even understand what I'm saying?!"

Link nodded quickly. His human reasoning had started to come back, and the strange feeling he had watching Ganondorf had now disappeared.

"Good. So, what's your name?"

Link opened his mouth to answer, but found no sounds came out. He tried again, with the same results. He began to stare at the ground in shock once he realized what had happened.

He had forgotten how to speak.

* * *

Dark here. Ooh, chapter 2 after only a day. Go me. Thanks for all the kind reviews. I really appreciate them. As far as the questions, you'll all just have to wait and see.

I'd also like to take a minute to note the violence in this chapter. I think it crosses the line between T and M, but I'm not sure. If you happen to have an opinion, and you're already leaving a review, tell me what you think I should do: Up the rating, down the violence, or stay the same. Thanks.


	3. Of Bandits and Beauties

Those like the young boy are always meant to follow. Despite winning his freedom after so many years of bondage, he was once again forced into the service of others. He knows his place, at the heel of those with ambition.

Now a tremendous task had been placed before him. And without question, he charges towards the goal of his master.

Though his form has shifted into that of a human, he will always be a loyal dog. 

* * *

It had been a while since Link last sat in the saddle of a horse. Eight years, in fact. The mount he rode now was a small, dingy palomino, a slow but at the very least, somewhat reliable steed. The saddle was old and frayed, and felt incredibly awkward. Link didn't mind. His thoughts had been stolen away by the wonder of the city he was in. He first rode through the main street, gazing at the vendors and shops. People- Human, Zora, Goron or otherwise scurried about their business, bringing loads of goods and wares to the different venues. With the few rupees Telma had given him, Link purchased a boar dumpling. The pastry confounded him. While wrapping his mind around the food, Link took a closer look at his surroundings. 

Everything was so different to the castle, and from what he remembered, Ordon. So many new people hurried past him. Link had met, at most, several dozen fellow humans. With thousands in the area around him, and races like the Goron, with their hard, armored shells, or the Zora, who rightly smelled like fish, his senses were in overload. Worse still were the guards. They cut through the crowds, accosting those that interested them and arresting the ones that resisted. To avoid another run-in, Telma had given him new clothes to wear, a tan tunic and green leather pants. A simple brown belt hung around his waist, edges already gnawed off by a curious Link. As the gates leading into Hyrule Field came into view, Link thought back to how he'd gotten into this mess.

Telma had trouble believing the man she met couldn't talk. When asked for his name, he looked stricken for a moment, and finally shook it off, then pointed to his wrist with an honest look on his face. Telma guessed 'chain'. He shook his head. 'Shackle'. Another no. 'Link'. He smiled wide, and pointed at her. She introduced herself as Telma, brought the young man to her bar, closed it early and put him in the spare bed. In the morning she fed him roasted Cucco, which he devoured with alarming swiftness. This strange wanderer amused her. When she met him, he had literally 'disarmed' a royal guard with his bare hands, and looked ready to fight an entire army. Now he inspected every part of the tavern with childish manner, picking up chairs and cups as if he was excited by the sensation of lifting things.

The bartender watched Link for the better part of the morning. Sometimes he'd bring things to her, like fruit that he'd never seen, and she'd explain to him what they were. Before he left she changed his clothes for him, after leaving him in the washroom with a new shirt and pants. He stepped out a minute later, completely naked, green leather pants on his head. Despite the fact that he was a handsome young man, Telma felt only affection for him. Maybe it was because she was getting old. Maybe it was because he was so clueless he reminded her of a five year old she once knew.

She gave him a note to bring to the next contact of the resistance, a simple document that Link stared at for at least a quarter of an hour, before realizing he couldn't read. After discovering he was able to ride a steed, she put him on a cheap packhorse and sent him on his way. As he disappeared into the crowds of Castle Town, Telma felt a quiet sadness. This feral swordsman, who wandered into an alley and fell into this grand rebellion, reminded her of a long time ago. Reminded her of something she lost. She looked at the spot where he'd once been, and thought of all those that would try to kill him in the near future. She blinked back tears, and spoke to no one in particular.

"Please be careful." 

* * *

Link rode well into the day, heading along the western highway to the location he'd been told. He wouldn't be able to read the road signs, but the small bottle Telma had given him would be enough to guide his path. As the sun disappeared beyond the distant trees, Link felt the human need to lie down and sleep through the night. The traveler found a tall tree amidst the calm, rolling plains of Hyrule Field, and settled down beneath its long branches to rest until morning. A wide, contented smile spread across Link's face. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. 

Link awoke face-to-face with a man that appeared to be upside down. He looked up, and calmly noted the ground, then looked down, and was pleased to see the night sky. Link decided it was he that was upside down, rather than the man, who now appeared to be getting fairly perturbed with him. He began to rant about 'respect' and 'fear'. Link liked the way the word 'respect' sounded. Re-Spekt. Spek. As the man drew a knife and brandished it in Link's face, the upside-down man decided it was the 'spec' part of the word he liked the most.

"Is this dumb bastard even listening to me?!" The bandit had never been so disregarded in his life. And by some dipshit traveler who he'd tied up! His fellow thieves were either too shocked to laugh or too afraid of the consequences, though one of the torch-wielders in the back seemed to grin. Meanwhile, their victim continued to float around in his own world. The bandit leader drew back a gloved hand and struck Link full force across the face. The hit turned Link's head a quarter of an inch, and made the bandit feel very nervous. "That get your attention, boy?" Link's brow furrowed, but he said nothing. "Get to talking. Where do you keep your loot?" The bandit took his silence as a small victory, as if he'd stunned his victim. "Huh? You don't wanna talk? Well if it's not that important to you, how about we cut out your tongue?" He moved the knife closer to the upside-down man's face.

Suddenly there was a loud ripping, and the double-tight loop-de-loop outer Windsor knot the bandits had tied around Link's hands was gone. The bandit leader would've raised protest, but he was occupied and in no position to talk, what with the strong hands of Link grasping his neck. As he was lifted into the air, his cohorts jumped into action- rather, they jumped away from the action, watching in terrified awe as their fearless leader made strange gurgling noises and died like common poultry. The bandit's last fleeting thought was about how strange a story it would be. Killed by a bound man while he was upside down. Not as shameful as it is confusing.

The homicide-induced stupor eventually wore off, and the other brigands attempted to avenge their leader. A blade flashed by Link's shoulder, he turned quickly, and struck his assailant while grabbing another dagger-wielding hand close by. He still floated upside down, bobbing and weaving around the tree as steel rained down. Eventually a rogue blade cut his bonds, dropping him in front of those attacking him. He rolled into the stomach of one; backhanding the next behind him so hard he would've spoken with an impediment afterwards, provided the hit hadn't caused internal hemorrhaging, which quickly led to death. The next blade nearly struck Link in his arm. The feral swordsman shifted his weight and dug his claws into the man's chest. His human hands lacked the finesse of his wolfish form, though they were adequate at removing livers and kidneys. Another thrust- Link fell backwards, and with feet bound together kicked the man away and met the one approaching him with a closed fist. The rope finally tore off his ankles.

The victim had clearly become the attacker. Link felt something hot close behind him, and turning to face it, observed the tree he'd slept under was now on fire, burning brightly after one of the bandits with torches fell near it. In the light from the burning tree, Link made out four remaining bandits, each looking much less interested in fighting than before. The four charged him together. Link, remembering the sword from the guard he'd taken with him, pulled it away from the burning tree and swung it hard at the first man to reach him. He ran for another yard before collapsing, whereas his head pushed on much further, rolling across the plains and into the road. Link's blade met another, and the clash broke both. Not one to be wasteful, he struck his disarmed opponent with his pommel, making a noise that sounded much like the cracking of an egg. The last two swung in unison, and found their target had dodged far too quickly to be felled by the blows. They were excellent strikes however, and each succeeded in killing the other with the edges meant for Link. The bandits appreciated situational irony, and thus died without much fuss.

The swordsman stood now covered in blood, smiling ear to ear. It wasn't that he liked slaughter, but he understood there were two choices in that situation- kill or be killed, and he was elated to have chosen the former. Across the plains, a single flame bobbed erratically as it grew smaller. Link's curiosity got the better of him, and so he dashed with impressive celerity towards the dancing light. As whatever carrying the torch caught sight of him, it tumbled to the ground. The traveler slowed his pace, seeing what appeared to be a slim bandit staring back at him. He came closer, and it pulled a knife- still in its sheath, unfortunately. Link grabbed the weapon by the covered blade and tossed it several feet away.

As the traveler took a moment to inspect his final opponent, it began to shudder. Link was a bit confused. He hadn't seen this emotion in some time. It looked up at him with terrified, watery eyes, and made him feel something new as well. It was a she. The female of his species. Like Telma, only this one looked much younger and prettier. And much more afraid. And prettier. And softer. And a lot prettier. Link crouched down and looked at the lady thief. She had stopped crying, but her twitching nose suggested it was a task not to.

The swordsman reached out to her and she pulled back, but was unable to stop his hand. It wiped across her cheek, and removed the streak of a tear. She spoke. "You aren't going to kill me?" Link shrugged, but shook his head fervently once he saw the fear return to her eyes. "I'm sorry for trying to rob you." Link nodded sheepishly, as if apologizing in turn for the massacre of her associates. She looked at him quizzically. "Do you… speak?" He thought about this for a moment, and realized she was unaware of his condition. He pointed at his mouth and shook his head. "Oh," she began. "I see. Well, this may seem strange, but I guess I should be thanking you." The swordsman looked puzzled. "Well, I was never a very good thief." He nodded in agreement. "And those guys you killed, well, they were threatening to off me if I ran away from another battle. So, all in all, this was pretty opportune, right?" She chuckled unconvincingly.

Link raised an eyebrow, and the girl changed the subject. "Hey, what's your name- wait, sorry." He shook his hand, and raised his left arm, then pointed at the chains hanging from the shackle. "Your name is Chain? Wait, no. Steel!" The swordsman sighed, and then remembered the note he'd been given. He withdrew it from his pocket and showed the girl. She read for a moment. "Link. That's a nice name." He put the message back into its place. "So, where are you headed?" Link showed her the bottle, and her eyes opened wide. "You're kidding." Link shook his head candidly. "Do you know how to get there?" He nodded, and pointed down the road, then paused and pointed the other way. The fight had thrown off his sense of direction. "Do you mind if I take you there?" She offered, not really wanting to travel alone, in the dark, after witnessing a robbery-turned-massacre. Even if her only other option was traveling with the man who caused the massacre. He nodded very excitedly. "Great. Consider it my thanks for saving me from that… jam." The two turned and continued down the proper path, underneath a sky speckled with stars. 

* * *

As the sun rose on Hyrule Field, Link and his ex-bandit companion neared a small outpost, only spectacular in that it was the solitary monument on the mostly flat plains for many miles. It was built on a small hill; the dip created by the lower section forming a miniature valley. Upon the hillside, fat cows grazed indolently. The sun began to rise, partially obscured by the knoll, and created a brilliant, honey colored outline for the entire farm. In the golden light of the morning, Link turned to get a better look at his partner. She had soft, pale skin, lightly bronzed by days spent outside. Her face was strong, and yet feminine, with a small chin, thin lips and endearing smile. Her hair was long and fiercely red. Every time she brushed it out of her face Link whimpered. She walked like a man, roughly treading the ground and giving little care to what she stepped on. The girl glanced at him. "What's wrong?" she asked. He opened his mouth to speak, and sighed, remembering he lacked the ability. 

When they reached the farm, Link prepared the note to show the owner, so that he could continue on his way to the 'resistance'. From within the austere wooden cabin came a short, stout farmer. He wore simple overalls on top of an old tunic, and had brown hair, just beginning to gray, tied back into a ponytail. He sauntered towards them, and gave a friendly wave. "Howdy," he called. "Welcome to Lon Lon Ranch. Not many travelers 'round here any mo-" He seemed to squint his eyes at Link's companion, before his jaw dropped open. He stood limply, knees beginning to shake. The girl beside Link sighed heavily, and continued walking past the old man.

"Hey, pa."

* * *

Dark here. Oh snap, M---n! I really appreciate the many reviews. They've helped me push on and finish the next chapter. This one is a bit late, as I just got off a plane from Capetown to Johannesburg, so I apologize for that. 

Anyway, if in any of the chapters you notice a spelling, grammar, or continuity error, and you already plan to leave a review, don't hesitate to tell me. I try to have as few errors as possible, but I am human.

Also, since this isn't really an upcoming plot point, I figured I'd clarify something. You may be confused by Link's behavior. Obviously spending 8 years in an animal's body and an abandoned castle would be a disorienting experience, but a good deal of the 'regression' comes from Link's mind shutting itself off from his previous mind, simply to protect him. So that gives me a little more freedom with his 'childishness'. Just thought I'd clarify for anyone that gives a damn.

Anyway, Chapter 4 should be finished soon, so I hope to see you again. Thanks to everyone who has added this story to their favorites or alerts.


	4. Of Farmers and Fighters

The only things more amusing than one fool are two fools. When these creatures meet, a strange thing happens. For a moment they forget the troubles of their worthless lives and delight in their own shared ignorance.

The most enjoyable thing is watching their own weakness tear them apart.

They shatter the bonds they create, and the painful shards stay within them until the day they die.

It's rather poetic.

* * *

The kitchen of the Lon Lon Ranch's sole cabin was adequate, with cabinets and counters, a basin and a pot stove. The wooden floor creaked, the wooden ceiling creaked, the wooden doors creaked, every part of the house creaked so much that the other parts got tired of all the noise and stopped creaking altogether. At the small dining table in the center of the room, two people, a man and his daughter, were seated. Neither spoke. 

Talon sighed deeply, rubbing his glistening bald spot and taking a short sip of milk. Across the table, his flesh and blood was seated rather indignantly. He swallowed, and cocked his head, looking at her from a different angle. It had only been three years since she'd left, but she'd aged so much. At nineteen she looked like a girl, at least in the middle-aged farmer's eyes. Now she was a woman. There would be no going back. It was a shock for the poor old man. After a long, gloomy silence, he spoke.

"I missed you."

She exhaled, and nodded lightly, avoiding looking at Talon. It was her way of telling him she'd missed him too. Finally she garnered enough resolve to look him in the eyes.

"You want to know why, right?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well I certainly wouldn't mind-"

"It was because I felt useless!" she snapped. "You treated me like a child. As if I didn't know what was going on in the world. Like I didn't know about Zant-" Talon shuddered and closed his eyes. "About the coup. The executions. The… everything." Her father didn't move from his position.

"I know they killed Ma."

The farmer's face dropped and his breathing became very deep.

"I had to do something. And yeah, I was young. And dumb, and so I ran off and joined some bandits who made me think they were going to fight the good fight." She chortled. "Yeah, I made a terrible thief."

Talon made noises that sounded like both laughter and lamentation. "Oh, Malon… I remember," he said, with a gleam in his eyes, "when you were twelve, you stole the Cucco we were going to cook for dinner, and tried to hide it in your room."

Now Malon began to laugh. "I tried to act innocent even though-"

"You had feathers all over your dress!" Talon finished.

Both laughed freely, and as the laughter died down there were tears in Talon's eyes.

"I'm so sorry." He wiped them away. "But you were so young. You are so young!"

"I'm twenty-two, Pa."

The farmer thought for a long while, and then smiled. "So you want to fight the good fight?"

She nodded decisively.

"Do you have any idea who you're escorting?"

Malon shrugged. "A batshit-crazy mute who would be absolutely petrifying if he wasn't so cute?"

Talon laughed. "No, sweetie. That man out there," he began, pointing through the window to the swordsman who was now having an absolute ball playing in the Cucco pen, "may very well be just what we need to turn the tide of this war."

Malon looked surprised. "Don't get me wrong, he's the best warrior I've ever so much as heard of, but he's just one man."

Talon grinned. "One man with enough courage can make all the difference in the world. Never forget that."

For a while there was silence, and Talon leaned back and gazed at the ceiling. "How long did you know I was a rebel, Malon?"

"I think I always knew." She stated with a frown. "Especially after the… 'accident'. I guess that was one of the reasons I got so frustrated. My own father was putting his neck on the line and I had to sit back like a good girl. It made me sick."

Talon nodded. "I'm sorry for not treating you right, sweetie. It's just, after your mother died, I was afraid… that I'd lose you, and that would be that."

Malon smiled, stood up and walked around the table to her father. She wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him strongly.

"Have some courage, Pa."

* * *

Later that night, Malon decided to give Link a bath. He didn't seem to realize it, but he stunk after 8 years of being a wild animal, and if the swordsman wasn't going to take care of his own hygiene his traveling companion would have to do it for him. She dragged him by the ear into the ranch's bathroom, stripped off his clothes (while trying to maintain some decency by looking away), and dunked him into the large basin used as a tub. She poured in a large bucket of water, and topped it off with a bulky chunk of soap. Finally, Malon turned away from the scene and nodded. 

"Alright then. Wash yourself."

A minute passed and nothing happened.

Suddenly the sound of gagging came from the basin. Malon whipped around to find Link coughing up pieces of soap. To his defense, it had looked a great deal like a boar dumpling, which he had just figured out how to eat.

With a groan, Malon picked up the washcloth from the edge of the tub and dunked it in soapy water. Starting with Link's long, overgrown mane, she scrubbed him down. After washing a bit of the grime and dirt away from his face, the farmgirl was finally able to get a good look at her companion. He looked to be about her age, perhaps a couple years older. His face was the slightest bit gaunt, with high cheekbones and a rounded chin. Blonde stubble framed his visage, and met his unruly sideburns to join locks of shoulder-length hair. His lips were conservative, much like Malon's, existing as only a thin line between his growing beard. Link's eyes were the last feature she noted. They had a dull blue color, like a gem covered in dust, and were unspectacular until they truly met her own. There was a strange connection, and for a moment she saw the youth hiding behind those weary irises.

It was then Malon realized she'd been scrubbing the same spot on Link's shoulder for well over five minutes, and it was now beginning to turn quite red. She quickly dropped the cloth and turned away in embarrassment.

"S-sorry."

Link said nothing, but smiled to himself, picked up the washcloth and began to scrub his own body thoroughly.

* * *

Early in the morning, Link and Malon collected their belongings and prepared for the journey ahead. Talon accepted that his daughter would be in peril, but at least she'd have the protection of an organized group, rather than a wild band of thieves. And he trusted Link. The man was clearly a vicious fighter, from what Malon had told him, but the message from Telma had confirmed his expectations about the boy. He decided that in the world they lived in, Malon simply couldn't be safer. 

Talon was unable to hold back tears as he hugged his daughter goodbye. After all, she'd been gone three years, and could only stay for a day before running off again. Though she wouldn't admit, the young woman felt a bit like crying, too.

The farmer gave them a small stone to take to the next contact. It had a strange hole in the center, and four lines carved connecting the hole to a ring near the edge. He explained to show this to the two men they'd meet near a pass far to the north. He would direct them to the hideout of the resistance. They thanked him for the help, and continued on their journey.

As they disappeared beyond the horizon, Talon turned and trudged to the old, dusty cellar behind the cabin. He procured a small key, and unlocked the thick double-doors. The light that filtered in was received coldly by the dusty interior, as it illuminated a dilapidated floor, with footprints marking previous paths in the thick dust. Talon lit a lantern hanging on a nearby wall, and raised it towards the farthest corner of the basement. After closing the cellar doors, he took a seat at the only chair in the room, and set the lantern on a small table next to him.

"Mornin', Ingo."

He clasped his hands together and set them on his lap. His eyes seemed to be fixated on each digit.

"I uh, guess it's been a while since we last talked."

There was silence for a moment.

"Oh, yeah. Malon came back today. Great, huh?" he smiled. "I was worried about her. I know you were too. Anyways, she brought a nice fella with her. I think she likes him. He's a quiet boy, but I can tell he's a good soul."

He continued to fidget with his hands.

"I'm sorry."

Accepting the stillness as a response, he pushed on.

"I guess I just didn't have too much of a choice. I mean, at the time I had to follow the path I was on, and that just lead down a road I wish I could've avoided. Lookin' back on it, I see you were doin' the same thing. I hope you can forgive me one day."

Talon exhaled, having pushed on through that part of the conversation.

"Somethin' funny happened today. I realized how much the world had grown up while we were hidin' out here at this ranch."

Finally Talon stood, and looked up from his hands.

"This grudge has to die, Ingo. How 'bout it? We were like brothers before. Can we go back? Because I know good and damn well everything else's changed!"

As Talon stepped out of the cellar, closed the doors behind him and locked them tightly, he felt as if a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He'd freed Ingo, and thus himself. And he would never again have to return to the dusty cellar, with its small table, broken chair and Ingo, who, spirit now departed, was nothing more than an aged skeleton, chained to the wall.

* * *

The further north the two traveled, the colder it became. The grass began to recede into patches of green mixed with brown, and finally the cold frost of winter swept the plains. The animals returned to their homes within the earth, and the plants wilted, bowing down to rest for the season. For at least a week, Link and Malon rode on, passing few travelers. They camped alongside the road, and watched the peaceful fall of the season's first snow. As the snow grew heavier, and light grew dim, the pair knew they were close to their goal. 

Eventually the pallid land seemed to end, breaking off into a massive chasm that spread across the horizon. The road led to an immense stone bridge. In the distance, the bridge looked as empty as the rolling plains. But as the two rode closer, they noticed the presence of several caravans. Smoke from beyond the entrance to the viaduct rose in thick, overpowering billows. Link instinctively moved closer to Malon.

As they neared the caravan, they found it mysteriously empty, with only Hylian warhorses waiting impatiently for their masters to return and command them. The sight ahead stopped the two travelers dead in their tracks. From the beginning of the bridge to the very center, it looked as if a war had taken place. Hylian Wardens, known as the patrolling force of the army of Hyrule, were strewn about the passage. Towards the center, some lay in pools of their own blood, others were cut completely in half. Worse still were the ones closest the entrance. Their swords were nowhere to be found, and they faced the land they'd come from. As if they'd been cut down trying to escape.

Link and Malon both dismounted, and began to walk their horses across the bridge, surveying the destruction.

"What on earth… what happened here?" Malon had seen her share of battle and death, but this was no skirmish. It was a massacre.

Seconds later she received her answer. The bodies ended where a single being stood.

He was a man; at least he appeared to be. Standing no less than seven feet tall, he cast a deathly shadow over the bridge. The corpses littered in front of him were hardly fallen men, simply remainders of a possibly human body. He wore a dark, frayed robe, stained black by drying blood. His hands were the only part of his body visible. They looked only vaguely human, far too large and misshapen to be a normal man's. In them, the thick handle of a colossal axe was grasped tightly. The axe was coated in crimson stains, and chips of bone.

Upon his head he wore a dark mask, made of dense obsidian. It covered all but his long brown locks of hair, and made Link remember something he'd seen before.

The man spoke now.

"Leave."

Link positioned himself in front of Malon, who peered over his shoulder and spoke for him.

"Um, we need to cross this bridge. It's ok! We don't really like the guys you fought either, so I don't think we need to fi-"

The man brandished his axe, swinging it across the width of the bridge and then crushing it into the stone path. A large crack was left in the ground, and the axe looked unbroken.

"Leave!"

Malon began to back away from the scene, though Link remained unmoving.

"B-but, why?!" she asked.

"Those that cross this bridge bring death and ruin. I shall never allow you to harm my land again."

Malon looked dumbstruck. "Um, uh… Link? What do we do?"

The swordsman looked back at her with an assuring smile, and winked. She nodded, and grabbing the reins of both horses, retreated to a safe distance.

The axe-wielder raised his voice. "You refuse?!"

Link answered by striding towards the man.

"Then die!"

The axe cleaved the sky.

* * *

Dark here. I apologize for the cliffhanger. I just love to see people squirm. 

Seriously though, I battled over whether or not to include the fight in this chapter and decided to hold off. Still, I did that so it would be that much better. Trust me. The next chapter I'm starting on right now, so expect it to be up within the day. Hopefully.

As always, much love to the reviewers.


	5. The Bridge in the Mask's Shadow

The boy would go on to face many battles in his journey. This was not the first, nor was it the last.

He had no fear, rather, was too brainless to realize what it was.

But heroic he was. As the saying goes, only the good die young.

* * *

Link rolled past the first strike of the man's axe. It shattered the stone, sending shards in every direction. As he landed, the swordsman picked up a discarded blade and swung at his opponent, who spun and guarded with the broad side of his weapon. He pushed Link backwards out of the lock, who recovered with a backwards tumble, and a forward dash past the axe. Almost striking home with his weapon, Link was deflected by a quick side strike, and went plummeting off the side of the bridge. He gripped an indentation and swung himself around to the man's back. This time the axeman was unable to defend, and the sword penetrated his robe and back, pushing through the center of his chest. 

Seeing this, Malon cheered, the tightness in her chest subsiding. Within moments it had returned. Rather than dropping to the ground and expiring, Link's opponent turned, sword still embedded in his chest, and stared directly at the young man, as if stunned at his audacity. Link was staggered from a moment, and failed to dodge the powerful strike from his enemy's left fist. It sent him across the viaduct, and he landed near Malon. She jumped to his aid. "Link! What's going on?!" The cross look he gave her reminded the girl that even if he knew, he lacked the ability to explain.

"Oh yeah. Well, you need to- GET UP!" Midsentence she realized the guardian was charging towards them. She pushed Link to his feet, who grabbed another blade on the way up. He put the edge out just as he met the axeman. The sheer force of the huge man's charge flipped Link over and slammed him into the stone floor. The man, now decorated with two swords in his torso, continued running for a few feet longer, coming dangerously close to Malon. He seemed to glare at her behind his mask, and then turned to face his opponent- who was only inches away from him, third sword at ready.

Before the axeman could swing his weapon, Link had leapt onto the handle. The man drew it above his head in surprise, and Link completed a full swing, flying into the air and landing upon the man's shoulders. The smaller swordsman lifted his blade and deftly sheathed it in the man's skull. It pierced at least two feet into his body. Link took a second to breathe; almost sure the man would continue fighting him. For a fleeting moment there was nothing.

And then the huge axeman dropped to one knee, Link still grasping the sword that had dug deeply into his cranium. Link looked at Malon, his eyes asking if the task was done. She nodded resolutely, and so the swordsman collapsed in a heap in front of the kneeling man. Malon rushed to his side, turning her companion over to see where he was hurt. She pulled off his tunic, and gasped, finding a huge purple-black bruise on the right side of his chest. It was more than likely made when the two collided.

A noise, like heavy breathing, came from the kneeling man. Malon drew back, fearing he was not yet defeated. He spoke in between labored breaths. "Please, no more. Take my life..." She gazed at his masked countenance fearfully. "But do not kill my son." He removed the mask, and for an instant, she saw a kind face, and old, dark, peaceful eyes.

The sky grew very dark. As the swirling of stormclouds blocked out the fleeting rays of the sun, Malon felt a deep evil sprout all around her. The light flurry of snowflakes turned into a slow rain of cinders. Malon instinctively clasped her hands together and backed away from the man. "I am defeated…" he began, "but the evil yet remains." The farmgirl bumped into something hard. She turned slowly, and found she was staring into the eyes of a Hylian Warden. They glowed from behind their sockets, and a steady stream of blood trickled down his cheeks. She screamed and rocketed backwards, again slamming into the axeman. Though he was her former enemy, anything was better than the abomination of a human that stood before her now. Link began to grunt, still incapacitated and disabled.

Suddenly the sizeable handle of the massive axe the guardian had wielded floated in front of Malon. She gazed upward to see the axeman standing over her, his calm eyes guiding her towards the hilt. "Take this axe."

She shook her head, and found tears welling in her eyes. "I… I c-can't! There's no way I'm strong enough…"

He nodded reassuringly. "Take it."

With a shaky grip, Malon put both petite hands around the grip of the axe. The man shifted his hands to clasp hers, and she felt warmth pour through her.

"Strength comes in many forms. If you find your arms are lacking, strike with your soul."

She shook her head. "What are you sayi-"

Looking up she realized the axeman had disappeared. Her gaze returned to her hands and Malon found she was lifting the colossal axe all by herself. The bloodied Hylian began to shuffle towards her. Malon slowly spun around, and found even the Wardens that had been dismembered were standing and hobbling towards her. They raised their blades and let out unearthly noises from their gaping maws. Above the dark bridge, the mask hovered silently, surveying the battleground with an unmoving smile.

Malon took a deep breath, bent her knees and shifted her hands, crossing them and holding the axe high above her head, blade lying against the sky, as she'd seen the axeman do. She stood protectively over her fallen comrade, whose breathing had stabilized.

"Alright." She was calm. Completely calm.

"No more running away."

The first Warden roared, and swung its blade.

"Not this time!"

* * *

**END OF PART ONE  
**

* * *

Dark here. What!? Another cliffhanger!? And the shortest chapter ever?!?!?! Don't be sad. The fight scene was only a chapter in of itself so I'd have time to perfect it. Chapter 6 is already in the works. And I've got a new character some of you readers had never expected to see. 

I'd also like to note that so far I've been staying fairly true to Hyrulean geography (only making the world much larger- Hyrule is supposed to be a continent after all), so if you want, pull up a TP Map (Wii version since the GC version is mirrored, as the esteemed I.K.A Valian pointed out to me) and see if you can follow Link and Malon's journey.

Thanks for the kind reviews. Next part and chapter, comin' right up!


	6. The Power Drunken Master

A pair of feet the color of burnt wood danced across the stone floor of the palace, black droplets marking their path in blotches. They belonged to a lithe woman, all dark, covered in robes. In her hands were the hilts of curved blades that extended to her shoulders. She held her face low, beads of sweat dripping from her brow. All around her, the remnants of something evil billowed, lashing out and gripping at her. She dodged swiftly, slicing away the wisps, only to find more at ready.

"What do you want from me?!"

The response was garbled roaring the woman could not understand.

The evil grew thicker and stronger, permeating the air. It surrounded her, engulfed her, rose up and contaminated all it sensed, leaving nothing left in the room but the cold touch of sin.

In her mind, the woman recalled the writings on the wall.

_And as they three did fall,  
So perfect as they were  
He came from what they lacked  
Was Naught, and Naught was all. _

* * *

In Hyrule the desert is a sign of infinity. As the blonde swordsman parted the sands with each step, he began to understand why. The desert stretched on for more than just miles. It truly was infinite, so deep that the sands themselves became lost as they were blown by the wind. Besides the rolling dunes and occasional crevice, the only discernible feature on the horizon was the colossal stone tower close ahead. The swordsman had traveled quite far to reach where he was now. He was not afraid of what lay before him. Certain death had become a familiar friend in his travels over the past year. 

In a way he was glad to be so close to death. He had little to lose now. His companion, beautiful as she was strong, was gone, dead at best. She had fallen to one of the patrols that had discovered them at least a month ago. He'd mourned her passing, though in the fashion required by the times. He grieved with those that had taken his companion, sharing his blade with them, and upon seeing this, they wept greatly, crimson tears pooling beneath their feet.

He missed home, the swordsman did. Though at this point he'd forgotten quite where it was. He remembered images, the peaceful hamlet in the southernmost reaches of Hyrule, with its gentle hills and rustic farms. This desert that had swallowed him whole had reminded him of the comfort of his old home, through merit of being quite the opposite. But it mattered little. The tower was here, sand fading into crafted stone.

The Arbiter's Ground.

The hallowed rock, which now surrounded the swordsman, seemed to shimmer in the midday sun.

Scripture and glyph alike decorated the ancient walls. Their story led deep into the Grounds, spiraling the tower with each new era. They spoke of wars, of gods and kings, and of those that were both. The swordsman felt a deep tension in his chest as he came closer to the top of the tower. He was not worried that he was the first to traverse these corridors since the times of old.

Rather, that he was second.

The final doors opened, and allowed light to pour into the filthy edifice. The traveler within was more concerned with the sight in front of him. The Mirror Chamber, as it had once been called, was empty. He walked to the center of the room, and surveyed it dismally. There was no mirror. There was no sealed door. And there was no Fused Shadow. Perhaps Sheik had been wrong.

A flicker of movement above the chamber drove the swordsman to brandish his blade, standing at ready for the last fight of his life. A shadow sped from the open roof to where he was standing. He turned and guarded, steel meeting steel and bringing energy to the dormant room around them. He saw a dark face for an instant, and then two blades in a deadly arc. He narrowly dodged and struck his opponent across the midsection. Black, greasy smoke emanated for only a moment, before the wound sealed itself. The shadow stood back for a moment, giving the swordsman time to study it.

It was clearly a woman, with a dark face and darker cowl. Her blades extended backwards to her shoulders- that was why she fought at such a short distance, and her eyes, a strange tone for a Hylian, screamed where her mouth remained shut. She dropped out of stance.

"Perhaps we should focus on our shared problem before we finish this."

The swordsman raised an eyebrow. His foe pointed behind him.

He turned, and immediately wished he hadn't.

It was a dragon; or the bones of one, bleach white, red-eyed, sharp-fanged. It coiled around the walls of the tower and stared the two fighters down, growling at their presence. Without delay, it opened its skeletal jaws and let loose a burst of flames that licked hungrily at everything they touched. The woman retreated to the poles above the tower, the man charged through the flames, moving too quickly to be burnt. He leapt with all his might, meeting the dragon in midair and letting his sword speak for him. The dragon understood the message, and roared in pain as a response. It seemed to instinctively grab its broken face before swiping at the swordsman, knocking him across the room.

It was his foe's turn now. She seemed to glide over the chamber, delving both her blades into one inhuman eye, and ripped them away. Her de facto cohort assisted by striking the other red glow, and as the dragon shook them both to the ground, it nearly fell from the tower wall.

"Allow me to finish this."

The shadow woman took a deep breath and extended her palms. She closed her eyes and began to focus, chanting unimpeded despite the raging demon only yards ahead. The swordsman simply stood back, allowing her to do her job. The beast began to shudder, pieces of bone becoming brittle and shattering at their joints. With one final bellow it died away completely, devastated head all that remained. The woman dropped to one knee, energy drained.

The swordsman hurried to the defeated skull, and reaching into the cracks, was elated to find what he'd been searching for. He removed a piece of black obsidian, and ran his hands over the surface. It was smooth and cool, but deep within he felt its primal energy begging to be released. He turned to the woman in the center of the room-

She was gone.

As soon as the panic of realization flooded through his mind, the swordsman felt something sharp push through his chest. A curved blade, now coated in his own blood, dripped red upon the sacred stone.

"I apologize for the cowardly maneuver. I would have preferred to defeat you in a fair fight. However, these are honorless times."

The swordsman choked on his own blood, and felt deep anger towards himself, towards this woman, towards everything in Hyrule.

"What is your name, swordsman? At least you will be remembered."

The defeated warrior raised his arm, only to grip the sword that had impaled him. To the shock of its wielder, he gripped it with the last of his strength, and shattered the fine edge. He turned to face the woman, and dropped to his knees, lacking the very strength to stand.

He exhaled one final time before collapsing, and for a moment, saw the face of a friend, one who'd been gone a long, long time.She stepped back a bit, and he gazed up to face her with hate in his eyes- before answering.

"It's Colin."

* * *

Hyrule Castle had been rebuilt since its destruction. Not to say it was beautiful now, rather it looked much worse than before. Even during the years when dusk and twilight ruled its halls, there was semblance of peace. Now that the shadows had taken hold, the citadel was transformed from the monument of order it once was, into a reminder that law had failed, and good been destroyed. 

In the highest chamber, the throne room, a disinterested Ganondorf was perched upon the soft throne of the deposed Hylian King. It was much more comfortable than any chair he'd sat in, Ganondorf decided. Though that was perhaps due to the fact that he'd waited centuries to sit in it. In front of him a helmetless Zant paced frantically, waving his arms about as he ranted with his hyperventilated, high-pitched voice.

"And that's not counting the many times I've diligently done your bidding in these past seven years! I am yours to command, my liege! Why have I not been given the singular thing I asked of you?!"

Ganondorf laughed.

"Calm yourself, Twili. You'll get the Fused Shadow soon enough. For now, we lack the entire artifact. So I simply use the equipment at our disposal to locate the other pieces. Afterwards I assure you, both the Fused Shadow and the Realm of Twilight will be yours."

The conversation ended as a figure, escorted by two Darknuts, entered the room. It was the woman who Ganondorf had sent to collect the second piece of the Fused Shadow. She dropped to one knee in sync with the Darknuts in a salute to Ganondorf. He motioned for them to stand.

"My lord, the mission is done. There was but a single warrior there to oppose me. I dispatched him."

Ganondorf laughed. "Hah! The resistance certainly spreads itself thinly. And the Fused Shadow?"

The woman held out her palm and from it, something obsidian began to materialize. It floated to Ganondorf, who inspected its every facet.

"Excellent."

Zant began to lick his lips impatiently. Ganondorf turned to him.

"Do you see, Twili? It is all well under control. Soon you will be King of your realm."

With a muffled cry, Zant nodded, and excused himself from the room. Before he left, he turned to the woman who had brought the Fused Shadow.

"And you… what is your name?"

She gave a short bow, and spoke.

"Nabooru, sir."

* * *

Dark here. Double whammy this time around, eh? If you only knew what I have planned, hee hee hee. Anyway, I'm not one for shout-outs, but the response to this fic has been like nothing I've ever written before. So I'd like to thank Redgirl44, BlazeStarre, I.K.A. Valian, Kaylina the Gerudo and -0-Crimson-0-Nightshade-0-, who've submitted reviews to about every chapter. I appreciate the interest and support. This chapter's for you guys. 

Next couple days I may only get one or two chapters written and posted, since I'll be on a plane back home to the States. 28 hours of flying.

Wish me luck.


	7. Blood and Snow

Dark here.

My, that was quite the plane ride, wasn't it?

It's been about two years since I last picked up this story. I'm not sure what happened to it in the transition from South Africa to America, but soon after returning I decided to move on from fanfiction for good.

That, I feel, was a good decision for my writing. I took my first creative steps with fanfiction, and so I'll always have a fondness for it, but I feel there's a point when you have to move on from using the characters of others to tell your own stories.

Since then I've grown as a writer (I hope), but with new horizons comes new challenges, which is why I'm here.

I have a horrible tendency to leave things unfinished. A casual glance through my 'works' here should reveal that. So, in order to discover what it takes to finish something, I'm going back to the basics. I'm going to finish this story, come hell or high water, and then I really am done with fanfiction forever.

So, the motto of the day is "Finish what you started!" Let's see if I can live up to it.

* * *

"And the Goddesses fell from their slumber in the sky,  
For the aging of the world, in the blinking of an eye…  
Their sun illumines moon-and-star,  
The valleys near, the mountains far…  
So all will know the glory of  
The blessed three from high above…  
And of creatures all, from everywhere  
There is naught who could compare…"

The lullaby continued, drifting over the wagon as it rumbled along the road, through the impossibly thick snow of the northern plains. The horizon was distant and deceptively warm, hidden behind rising peaks in swaths of amber.

Malon guided the cart towards the setting sun, and even wrapped in wool from the caravan, she could feel the cold in invisible lines, across her neck, on her skin, in her bones.

By evening the sun would disappear altogether, and with the night came a deeper frost still. The girl moved quickly- with a sense of unfounded urgency- as the last rays dug their claws into the wet white ground beneath the cart. She lit torches, for warmth and light, balancing them around a covered lump in the cart's center.

She'd feed the horses, covering them the best she could in warm wool requisitioned from the dead soldiers, and run a hand along their manes, to comfort them all. The horses reminded her of a particular man, slightly bewildered, beautifully natural, patient and silent.

Beneath the blankets in the cart lay this man, breathing softly, thick bandage around his waist. His mane was a brighter shade, yellow like the straw beneath him, and his covering protected a much weaker core. His wound had mostly healed; its bloody, mauled purple had faded into a sickening yellow-black, still shuddering when touched. Malon, without knowledge of anatomy or healing was resigned to hoping for the best.

The problem then was not so much the wound but the conditions. Weakened as he was, Link had fallen ill, and it had scarcely left the man his consciousness. He clung to life like a newborn, eyes closed, body curled in. When he drew breath it was fearful, coming in rapid, panicked gulps, cold wind stoking a fire dying, or already dead.

After cleaning and covering his wound, she would feed him something stolen from the Wardens, military rations, edible at best but thankfully plentiful. Water was more of a concern. There was a barrel of that, too, but Malon feared the cold would freeze it when it ran low, and there was no lake or river in sight.

After the two were fed and watered, Malon would raise the covers up and crawl hurriedly in beside the sleeping man.

One night she lay awake, unable to sleep, lost in a daze. His body heaved beside her. How many states she had seen him in! First captured, then captor, once mighty, now crippled, submitted to her mercy, her ability, and her luck.

She shivered, and beneath the covers extended timid fingers to the curve of his shoulder, touching him lightly with her hand, and laid there for a moment, wondering if his eyes were still closed, resting peacefully, lost to the world and to her. The thought made her cringe, and she pulled herself closer and wrapped her arms around him, head behind his, breast on his back.

He was intensely warm, a lean furnace, and she hardly had time to marvel at his inner heat before she fell into a deep sleep, one calmer than any on the journey thus far.

* * *

Elsewhere in Hyrule a chill of a different kind spread out across the landscape. Castle Town had long stripped down the festive colors of celebration. Now the occupation of Ganondorf and his armies had settled in completely, and all pretenses of 'liberation' had been discarded with the orange-red banners of his coronation. The streets were empty in the winter midnight, save for the occasional patrol and one man.

He had the appearance of a being inhuman, or at least implacable. His face was carved into the cruelest of features, small, hard eyes slanted downwards so that his brow furrowed on the head of his tanned, fleshy nose, crinkling at the slightest disturbance, and even when neutral he appeared taken by inner hate, some inconsolable rage… the cold suited him, as did the silence, and the smooth blackness of the night.

This night in particular had offered little stimulation. He had met with no resistance from those he had interrogated, and rather humorously discovered that they were truly ignorant of what he was asking them.

There is a special kind of fear that one learns in such a profession. It is blank fear, stupid fear, when the subject is devoid of any notion as to why they are being questioned. It is immediately apparent, and most obvious in the motion of the eyes. As one racks the brain for any hint of discarded knowledge that might be of use, there is a misty scanning in the pupils, left, right, left again. They cannot focus, even when captivated; they cannot stay still, even when their limbs are frozen in fear.

And then, of course, the torture begins.

The hands are first! As a matter of principle, they are highly visible, they are vital to all skills and daily life, and yet not to the survival of the creature. Then the face: even the most superficial of cuts can leave one with the horror of disfigurement, for a few cuts more a mirror alone becomes torture, and finally death is the gratitude given for such an entertaining charade, and the black comedy is complete.

It is, in the simplest of terms, _fun._

But there is something much greater, much more fulfilling in the eyes of one who is guilty.

Any Interrogator of distinction has always learned to relish that hard-eyed stare, that thin-lipped grimace, the mellowed stoicism of hidden knowledge and untested courage.

He samples, truly tastes that tense air of fear that settles in between the two as the silence is held, and finds release in the singular moment of the first cut, when all pretense is cast aside, and art begins.

There is no coy slashing of the face when the strong ones are at stake, there is a singular goal and the truly inspired know that it will be reached eventually, even at the cost of immeasurable time, even into the night and the little hours of the morning, even until the stain of life encapsulates the entire room, and the stink of death is wafting hopefully from the skin. And sometime between the first cut (which is feared) and the last (which is beloved), something breaks, and all the little truths come pouring out.

And then, once the game is done, and there is only one left in the soiled, darkened room, the Interrogator leaves with a sense of love for his partner and victim, for even though others will learn what was exclaimed at the climax of the meeting, its intricate, intimate details will be forever locked away, trapped in the soul of the departed, which slumbers peacefully in the lungs of the Interrogator.

It had been so long since the Interrogator had met such an individual. But he had faith in the permanence of courage in the world, just as he had faith in his talent to destroy it.

The cold abated with the passing of a breeze. He exhaled with a breathless smile.

It was a beautiful night.

* * *

Days later the weather had shifted, and while the plains were still frigid, the ice had receded from the wheels of the cart. Malon's fears of losing the water were mostly forgotten. Link had recovered, if only partially, now caught between the habit of constant sleep and the need to move. He contented himself in sitting up against a barrel and watching the clouds go by.

His sense of direction was slowly returning, but he could still only discern that he was far away from his castle home, and near a long range of mountains. He could feel the altitude in his lungs, each breath falling short, and grew impatient, tired of his illness, tired of being limply useless in the back of the cart. It reminded him of the prison he had so recently escaped.

The mountains towered overhead, snowcaps leering down, and he could take it no longer. The swordsman lifted himself out of the cart, and tumbled down in a flurry of white. Malon turned her head, unaware he was even awake, and immediately dismounted to meet him, yelling his name. He took no notice and charged shakily through the snow, a powdered crest behind him, howling in a ridiculous, throaty, human way.

He made it about ten yards before collapsing again, breathing in lungfuls of snow and coughing them out as quickly. His companion was on him instantly, wishing she could kick him for his stupidity. She pulled him up and over her shoulder.

"You idiot… Stay in the cart before you kill yourself, alright?"

Link wasn't paying attention, half-focused on something far away and half-unconscious.

"Look at me, Link. This is serious."

An arrow pierced the snow a foot away from the two. The wind picked up around Malon, who was frozen in place, and four more peppered their general area. Malon began to pull Link back towards the cart, cursing loudly into the cold wind, when the swordsman grabbed her by the shoulder and poked her below the throat. She felt where his hand had been, remembering the pendant around her neck.

"You think _this _is the Resistance?!"

The swordsman managed an angry shrug. The archers adapted to the wind and their arrows sliced air nearer and nearer to the pair.

"Fine!" she screamed, tearing the stone circle from its cord and lifting it high in the air. An arrow narrowly missed her hand, and she shrieked, but kept her arm extended.

Both of them were shaking horribly and rooted to the ground, either from fear or the cold, but immediately the firing stopped.

Malon felt her heartbeat slow, and she picked Link up as two figures emerged from the tangled rocks of the cliff face.

"Well, Link… I think we're here."

* * *

So, there it is. I think it's pretty clear I've changed as a writer, whether I've improved or not I'll leave up to you.

I'm curious to see how the first six chapters compare to the newer one. I felt like developing Malon's character a bit more. I think she'll play a more central role than I originally anticipated, and I want to give her a sense of uniqueness to match.

And, since I apparently can't go a chapter without introducing a new character… Is he an old face or not? Who knows? I certainly don't. Remember, I'm going to finish this thing, so at some point I'll have to stop asking questions and start answering them.

Until next time!


	8. Kokiri Open City

Dearest Lord, King of Kings and Mightiest Emperor Ganondorf,

Your humble servant has undertaken the task so graciously apportioned to him, the interrogation and execution of your rebellious foes, and met with some success.

I have noted that the Resistance is well-hidden; such was the concern of my superiors, but I now have reason to believe that they are far weaker and more centralized than was previously considered, even in our most hopeful estimations.

Their local forces, however, are ingeniously deployed. They have formed 'houses', which are linked in succession to a central contact, the only one whom I believe has knowledge of their actual base. We have succeeded in destroying several houses; however their heads have been alerted prior to the arrival of your troops, and those who did not escape committed suicide.

The blame for this, I believe, lies chiefly on the shoulders of my superiors, whose names I am sure are known to you… thus is the purpose for my direct contact, sire. Burdensome as it may be, I believe I must speak with one competent enough to understand the need for… special measures against these rats.

I am sure you will have no difficulty finding me, and I patiently await your response. Until then I will continue as I have, happily spilling blood in the service of your grand new Empire.

My life is yours,  
Humble Interrogator

* * *

"I want to see Link."

Malon was sitting cross-legged on a little stool, the edges of her blue-white skirt rippling over and nearly dragging against the dirt of her tiny cell.

The guard outside was hunched over a chair turned backwards, scanning the cheeky girl, his eyes moving a bit too far below her neckline.

"And I want my clothes back. I look ridiculous."

She did not look ridiculous, in fact, but rather beautiful, even covered in a month's wear from traveling in the frost and snow. The man outside her cell laughed openly. "Not so, little lady. Come on… you'd really prefer that, stinking, worn-out leather? That's a nice dress, you know. Plus, who knows what you've got in all those pockets? We've already found all your little knives."

She frowned. "All seven?"

"All fiv- wait, seven?"

The two were interrupted by the entrance of an armored man with the insignia of rank. He entered slowly, having to duck under the doorframe to enter. He grunted as he pushed through, wiping a bit of dirt out of his thinly-shaven brown hair. The guard immediately stood at attention.

"At ease. Release the girl, she's one of us."

"Sir."

The cell door swung open, and a nonplussed Malon stepped out.

"Miss, I'm Captain Enzo, and I ap-"

"Shut up. I've just been blindfolded, led into a cave, thrown in a cell, put in a _dress_, and ogled by an idiot in chainmail."

Enzo glanced down at the guard beside him, who made a noise like _hrk_, and stepped back, chain jingling.

The captain glared for a moment, then grimaced. "I apologize personally for your treatment, Miss. As for the secrecy, well, I believe you'll understand soon. Please, come with me."

She nodded, and walked forward towards Enzo, who turned and stepped through the door. On her way out she pretended to stumble and elbowed the guard in the stomach. He sunk into his chair with a groan.

"Oh, dear," She said unconvincingly, "I am just so clumsy in a dress."

She smirked until she made it out the door, and realized she wasn't just in the cliffs of the mountain, but the core.

The inside of the mountain blossomed, opening into a vast chamber in its center, a dozen stories tall, and the yawning void was supported by titanic columns, rough stone descending from the ceiling, wrapped with stairways and rock bridges extending out in spindles. They met with clifflike balconies around the edges of the core, where she stood now, all carved from the very same stone. The structure was almost impossible to believe, like a colonized egg, and creatures of all races could be seen traveling the ways, from a little market around the center column to what seemed like a pub built into the far wall. The mountain was a living, breathing city, a community, with lights from houses along the upper walls of the rock.

Malon gaped, anger melting into pure surprise.

"This… this is unreal! Where is this? _What_ is this?"

The captain smiled wryly. "This, my dear, is Kokiri Village."

"Kokiri? How long has it been here?"

Malon followed the captain in a lull, astonished by the underground city. He led her down a stone ramp on to one of the long bridges towards the center column, and together they passed residents from every corner of Hyrule, of every color and race, species all- some humanoid, some not.

"Kokiri has existed for five years, give or take. The purges after Zant came into power left so many homeless, and the Resistance had just begun to organize. We were disordered, splintered across Hyrule, and when the Royal Army was finally cleansed of resistance…"

Enzo's eyes lost focus as he spoke, caught on something off in the distance, some dredged up memory that had hooked into his mind a long time ago. Malon sped up and put an arm on his shoulder.

"What? What happened then?"

He exhaled. "It was a massacre. The perfect storm; before, the entire country had been in chaos, partisans outnumbered the royalists, the army still had generals who refused to support Zant… we were winning. Then something happened, I don't know what. Someone straightened Zant out… or he found the right advisors. Whatever changed, it got the Royal Army's act together, smothered the internal strife, and before we knew it we weren't fighting brute squads, but legions. You don't remember any of this?"

Malon sighed. "I lived too far out in the country to grasp it, really. All I knew was that Zant won."

The captain nodded remorsefully, towering mass of the central column slowly approaching.

"That's for damn sure. After the first few real battles the Resistance was almost destroyed completely. I was there, leading one of the groups of exiles from Castletown… we went from crusaders to outlaws in a matter of days. I don't know how they did it. Still don't. Everything changed…"

They reached the tall set of double-doors leading to the central column, and two guards saluted the captain before opening them.

"At that point," he continued, as they proceeded into the lit corridor that encircled the inner column, "there really was no Resistance, to be honest. We were all on the run. And that's when the p… when he came along."

Malon was puzzled. "When who came along?"

"You're about to meet him. Come on."

She hurried after him. The corridor ramped upwards as it curved, leading the two higher and higher in the central column. Malon remembered something.

"Wait, I asked you about the village."

Captain Enzo chuckled. "You did, didn't you? In time. Here we are."

The corridor turned sharply, widened and finally opened entirely, revealing a sanctuary in the stone, a little grotto fashioned into a humble home. There was a makeshift stove in one corner, and a tub for bathing, and an uncommonly beautiful Hylian divider between the open air and what looked like a bed.

The desk in the farthest corner of the room was attended to by a man hard at work, scribbling something intricate on a sheet of parchment.

"Excuse me, sir."

The man continued writing as if completely disinterested. "Good evening, Enzo. Is this the girl?"

"It is, and she's quite interested in our little home here."

The seated man put the finishing touches on what Malon could now tell was some sort of design, and then stood and turned to face them.

He was young, much younger than she had expected, with a mess of blond hair cut so it only hung around the edges of his cheeks. His face was mostly obscured by a wrap of bandages, which descended down his neck and into his clothing.

His eyes softened at the sight of Malon, and beneath his bandages she could see the telltale motion of a smile.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Malon. Your father spoke the world of you."

He extended a hand, partially covered in bandages, with two fingers sticking delicately out.

"I am Sheik."

* * *

"Is he… Is he asleep?"

The two guards were precariously hunched over the pit they were supposed to be guarding, watching in sick wonder as their captive tossed and turned. They had expected him to go willingly, half-dead as he was when they found him, but as soon as they tried to apprehend the girl he swept their legs out from under them- and they were the lucky ones. Their lieutenant was still in the infirmary, swollen-faced and severely unconscious from the beating he'd received. It was only after the girl had screamed at him to stop that he let the lieutenant go, and begrudgingly walked alongside the convoy of soldiers to his cell in a pit.

No one had bothered tying him up, and as soon as he reached his prison he collapsed again. A healer had been summoned, who decided from a distance that he needed only rest, and so they tossed him a blanket.

He promptly wrapped himself up and fell asleep.

Some time later an entire patrol hurried in, ordering that the prisoner be released.

Their leader called out to the sleeping warrior, telling him that he was to be freed as long as he hurt no one, and that his 'woman' (in their words) was safe and waiting for him.

This woke him up, and he waited to be helped out of the pit, able to walk on his own but clearly fatigued. The men escorted him from a healthy distance, their leader ordering them to bring him to Sheik, but staying behind as they left the prison.

The two guards looked at each other. "Uhm, sir?"

His eyes were fixated on the door, even as it swung closed and the prisoner disappeared from view.

"Shut up. I hear he hates Lieutenants."

Elsewhere in the village, through shouts of drunken celebration, a hooded man sidled up to another, both perched on the wall of a pub.

"Rupee for your thoughts?"

The other man chewed his lip thoughtfully, smudgy brown hair obscuring his eyes.

"I donno nuthin."

His companion sighed.

"_Blue _rupee for your thoughts?"

The man snatched it from his palm eagerly, and grinned wide.

"He's the Hero of Time."

* * *

Dark here. Ah, two chapters in one day. That's not bad, huh?

I'm having an easier time than I had hoped moving the plot along. I think that might be something to consider, that by introducing too many side stories, one can stagnate the main plot. I think in the future I'll try to make chapters in this style, with brief interludes for subplots, but with the major focus on the main story.

We will see! And so more characters join the mix. Enzo, I fear, is the name of some other character in the expansive Zelda series. It's a coincidence this time, he's an entirely original (I hope!) creation. Sheik, on the other hand, is exactly who you think he is (unless you think he's someone he's not.)

And now our mysterious Interrogator has a name! Well, kind of. Yes, Malon elbowed the guard through his chainmail. Talk about a BAMF. I'm liking her more and more every chapter. I hope you do too.

I also hope my writing is starting to adapt to the story again. Cheers!


	9. Resistance Year Zero

The Interrogator yawned lazily, scraping flecks of wood from a tiny branch. He inspected the sharpened twig, then set it on the table with seven others like it.

Across from him a dark-haired youth, no older than 19, shivered in his seat. Heavy rope bound his hands and legs to the chair, stiffly constricting all but the heaving of his chest. He wasn't entirely sure what his captor planned to do with him. He knew the man was a Royalist, and when he'd first been captured he expected torture... this had been anything but.

He took deep breaths, calmed himself and thought of his family. The Interrogator set down another twig.

"I'm not telling you anything."

The man continued whittling, paying no mind to his captive. "Yes you will."

"Go to hell. Your master killed my family. Razed my home. I'm not afraid of you and I'm ready to die." With every breath, the captive felt bolder and bolder. He knew he could face anything.

The Interrogator smirked. "Die? What's your rush?"

There was silence for a moment, and then the light tap of wood on wood as another stick joined its kind. The Interrogator sighed, breaking off another piece of a branch. "Thank you for your patience, you've been quite understanding. I try to prepare these things in advance, but sometimes..."

His captive was stone-faced, trying to filter out the patronizing banter. The Interrogator stopped, knife sticking out of the branch.

"You know what, this is a waste of time."

He pulled his chair closer, turning it around and leaning over its back, inches from the boy's face. "I don't think I'll need all ten. Do you know why?"

The bound boy spat in his face, and the Interrogator hardly blinked, letting the spittle run down his cheek. "Because you're a coward, boy. The garden variety I've seen a thousand times before. And so I'm going to strip you down and drench you in warm water, so that you're awake and aware, so that your nerves are padded with blood, so that every cut is going to be acutely translated into the most excruciating pain you've ever so much as imagined. I'm going to hurt you, slowly and immaculately. You think you have nothing to lose, oh but you do! -and I'm going to take it all from you. Everything except your tongue, so that you can tell me all that you know- and your eyes, so that I can tell if you're lying. And don't think I'm going to take your life, no, no. When you let all your little secrets come spilling out for me, and I know you've told me the truth- the whole truth- then I will _give_ you death. Consider it a parting gift. Now!"

The Interrogator picked up the first stick and towered over his captive like a vengeful god. The boy started to cry.

-

Hours later, the Interrogator washed the last bit of blood from underneath his fingernails, hardly able to hide his excitement, smiling openly into his mirror.

"The Hero of Time, huh? Fascinating."

* * *

"Uncle Borcha, what was the Voyage like?"

The rotund man in question peered down at his curious nephew. A smile curved under his moustache. "Why so curious, Pocco?"

The boy frowned. "Cause Papa won't tell me."

His uncle laughed, and tousled the boy's hair. "I see, I see. Well then, it was five years ago… and you were a new little boy."

In the markets, two men loaded bags of grain onto a tilted cart, sweating and boasting and carrying on.

"Just a boy! I was just a boy of seventeen when I joined the resistance!"

"Well I was only sixteen!"

"Sure, but _I'd_ have followed Sheik even if I'd been a toddler!"

"You'd have fought as well, at least!"

Nearby, a woman glanced out her window at a patrol of volunteer soldiers, brightly colored in their piecemeal armor. "At least we had real homes. I suspect we traded one master for another- and his damn caves."

"Mother, please…" Her son chided, tying his tunic closed, "Don't say that. Sheik unified us, organized us…" he paused to pull a coat over his head, "He took the resistance and turned it into a real army! He's not our master, he's our _leader_."

She huffed. "Well he _lead _us into a damn volcano!"

In his home, Pocco played with his soup, watching little hunks of carrot slip off his spoon into the murky brown below.

Borcha smacked him lightly. "Don't play with your food! –so we had a leader, but no direction. We had an army but nowhere to put it. We wanted to run, but we didn't know where to go. And d'you know what Sheik said then?"

The carrots swirled in the earthy soup, and Pocco looked up. "What did he say?"

Between the market stalls, the bag of grain tore open, spilling across the stone ground.

The two workers didn't notice, now tossing the cargo at the cart without so much as a glance. One yelled as he heaved the next sack. "'Go north!' said Sheik! And so we went north."

"Through the plains!" said the other.

"And the frost!" came the reply.

"I must've walked a thousand miles on that trip."

"So did we all, y'fool!"

The old woman drew the windows closed. "Fool plan from the very beginning. You see those idiot soldiers every day. You think they'll ever match up to the Royal Army?"

Her son sighed as he pulled on his boots. "I don't know, mother."

She huffed again and crossed her arms.

He walked up behind her and hugged her closely, kissing the top of her head. "I do know I carried you on my back for the last leg of the journey. I know I saw your eyes light up when we first poured into Kokiri. A whole village, abandoned in a mountain, like it was waiting for us. We got our own house, and… and two meals a day…"

She interrupted him, misty-eyed. "I'd rather have my grandchild!"

His smile wilted, and he withdrew immediately. "I… I know, mom."

"Mom?!" Pocco's mouth dropped open.

His uncle's grin split his face in two. "That's right. Your mother took out three soldiers all by herself. I found her sitting in a pile of them!"

"Awesome!"

Borcha sighed. "Sitting right there," he frowned, "with my brother… with your father."

The door opened, cool air rushing in with a tall brunette, hand on a stomach round and swollen.

Borcha stood up to greet her. He patted his nephew on the back. "Go play, Pocco."

"Kay!"

The boy ran out, hugging his mother on the way. "Mom, you're _cool_!"

She arched an eyebrow. "…Okay? I love you too, honey."

Pocco disappeared through the doorway, and his mother gave his uncle Borcha a confused look, then put her arms around the stocky man and kissed his lips deeply.

Outside the boy galloped down the ramp to a familiar corridor. He came out in a quiet patch of land beneath a low-hanging ceiling, and as far as the eye could see, there were solemn stones rising from the dirt.

The boy sped through the field of rock until he came to one he knew. He sat down in front of the door-shaped stone and ran a hand along its rough surface, feeling the indentation of every letter.

"Papa, tell me something new today."

The graveyard hummed with distant silence.

"Please."

* * *

Sheik folded his hands. "And that's how we got here. We fought our way across the plains, through two legions, and made it to this volcano. We had an entire village with us. Families carried their entire lives on their wagons… markets, butchers, bars… it all came together in this little, secluded world."

Malon still had difficulty grasping it all. "But… this is a frozen mountain range. Where do you get your food?"

"An underground farm," came the casual reply.

This made her very cross. "Uh-huh. And where do you get your underground _sun_?"

Sheik and Enzo snickered, the latter defending his leader. "The farmgirl is not convinced! I'd be glad to give you a personal tour of our fields."

"It sounds thrilling, really. But surely there's something more pressing for us to do outside this lovely town."

"Oh?"

"Of course. Link and I are here to help with the Resistance, not relax. Give us messages, give us a mission. As soon as he's well again we'll depart."

Sheik's brow softened, and he leaned back slowly. "I see. You haven't quite pieced it all together, have you?"

Malon looked confused. "Pieced… _what_ together?"

The captain and his leader shared a furtive glance at this.

The sound of an approaching patrol interrupted their conversation, and soon Link entered with his guards. Sheik stood, eyes lit up.

"If it isn't the courageous hero himself! I utterly apologize for your _sickening_ treatment. We're simply not used to visitors here."

Link shrugged, seeing that Malon was alright. She moved across the room and hugged him close.

"I'm glad you're okay, Link. They're going to send us back towards Castletown once you're better, so you need to focus on getting-"

Enzo cleared his throat. Sheik looked quite uncomfortable. "About that… as I was about to mention, I don't think a_… mission _of that type is what we currently need the most."

Malon waved him off. "Fine, then. There has to be something we can transport back to Castletown to help the Resistance. Orders, weaponry, explosives- name it. Then we can work from there to-"

Sheik interrupted again. "That's what I'm trying to tell you- we need both of you here for the time being. Particularly Link- no offense to your considerable expertise, miss. Furthermore, it's absolutely critical that no one leaves the mountain until we are ready to embark against Ganondorf, this time as an army proper- we took enough of a chance simply directing the two of you here."

Malon spun around to face Sheik. "War! Well why didn't you say so?! Of course we'll stay if that's the case- Din's fire, you're preparing a legion? When do you sortie? In a month? Two? Link- listen to that, we're going to return with an entire army!"

The two seemed ecstatic over the concept, Link grasping the situation only in the simplest terms- but he fed off Malon's enthusiasm, and understood the generality of 'War'- and the opportunities such an event would provide him with to stick sharp, steely objects into Zant's fleshy bits.

The rest of the room was deathly silent, every man present from guard to general uneasily shifting gazes.

Malon paused in the middle of a rant about liberating her hometown in the farmland near Lon Lon. "Well, Sheik? Tell us, when do we march?"

Sheik swallowed, and answered coolly.

"Fifteen years."

* * *

Dark here.

Oh dear. Fifteen years? Our beloved heroes will be almost forty by then, and I feel I'm already pushing it with Link's 'gruff adult' act. This simply won't do.

I tried something new, stylistically that is- I hope you enjoyed the shifting perspectives used to tell the story of the village. I felt like I could've had another boring exposition fest with Sheik (as I did with Enzo last chapter, sorry!) and still leave everyone in the dark as to what the village was really like… instead the people tell the story. Obviously Kokiri Village (which you can't leave- get it now? Ha ha.) is very Jewish in its conception. (Replace 'voyage' with 'exodus'.)

I hope it wasn't too confusing. Originally there were no bullets, which I dislike, but I think they're necessary (and not too intrusive) here. Any thoughts on this chapter would be greatly appreciated. I like this chapter a lot, but it feels unpolished- even a single well-thought out critique would probably galvanize me to edit some.

I'm off on vacation this week- updates may be spotty. Let's hope the travel virus doesn't run me out of town for another two years!


	10. Homeland!

_Four months later…_

The sunset bell rang in echoing swells through the cavern and the village, another invisible night setting in over Kokiri. Little veins of men crossed the open mountain, passing thousands of their kin, a flowing procession of bodies that curled indiscriminately, like smoke, like magma. They shuffled home, finished with the day's work, hands stained black by the soot of forges or the soil of fields. The metalworks heaved and quieted, red heat pausing to sleep, and the orchards whistled with trapped air from the ventilation holes. Even the market, its constant stream of people endlessly trading and trading back the luxury goods they'd packed and taken to their distant, new home. The stomach of the mountain buzzed with spent energy, and the unanimous, curious thought that slept in the back of every man's mind: That his secret village was getting just a bit crowded.

Inside the Taverna Volta, Malon opened the tap on the night's first keg of ale. She slipped by Hal, the bartender, and her appearance on the pub's floor was greeted with cheers, as always. She carried the mugs with flirtatious grace, bending at the waist to set the drinks down in front of a gathering of miners, their skin mottled with dust and cracked earth. Their tired frowns disappeared at her approach, smiles widening, eyes glued to her every curve. She swept past them, dodging eager hands, and noticed a table filled with exhausted soldiers. Through the thrum of celebration in the bar, she could barely make out what they said, voices almost hushed.

At the table, one of the soldiers, a square-jawed corporal who sat a head taller than the rest put his hand down heavily. "Now you boys understand how sensitive this is. We're not even supposed to know- we're not going to be the idiots who spill it all when the first pretty girl bats her eyes our way. Caldo, I'm looking at you." The soldier named Caldo dropped his head. "Sorry, sir." The corporal shook his head. "Blonde girlfriend, huh? Nothin' but trouble, Private. Believe me. Anyway, this one is staying with us. Right, boys?" The soldiers responded with a resounding "Yes sir!"

Within moments Malon had reappeared, platter of drinks ready, and pulled up a spare stool, leaning over the table and commanding the attention of every man present. "You know the rules, my darlings. No gossip here without my presence. So what's the news?"

The soldiers gaped.

She leaned forward even more, blouse visibly straining against the curve of her breasts.

Caldo's mouth dropped open. There was silence at the table for a moment. Malon sighed. "Oh, I see… you're making me feel so _left out_. Fine, I'll leave…" She'd hardly moved when the corporal stammered at her. "No, no, it's nothing- just… well, here, we'll tell you. Right, boys?"

This time 'Yes sir!' could be heard from the markets.

* * *

Sweat.

Link could feel the sweat acutely, every rivulet as it slipped past each pore, washing his body in a tired, aching cold. He curved his wrist, sword flicking through the air to point at his opponent, a man hidden behind armor.

His eyes were sunken, blinking even as they scanned the other man- who held his sword forward defensively. The tip of the armored man's blade bobbed furiously, as if anticipating motion. "Come on," spoke its wielder. "One more. One more and you can rest."

What followed was a symphony in a second, Link's arm circling as his feet left the ground, blade falling towards the other- the armored man dipped his weapon and slid backwards, raising it again to strike, but this was anticipated, and in came Link, momentum turning him and his sword in an impossibly fast arc, the blade meeting the midsection of the other man in a groaning _snap_, wood ripping from wood as the steel armor bent inwards.

"Stop!" yelled the armored man. Link dropped the wooden hilt and returned to his starting position.

"Enough. Well done. Go home." Link nodded and left the room.

The armored man waited awkwardly for the swordsman to disappear, then dropped to his knees, spitting up a string of blood that leaked through the slits in his armor. He breathed in deeply, then realizing his helmet was still on, pulled it off to reveal thinly-cropped brown hair, three-days' stubble and blue eyes filled with fear.

He coughed, holding his side where the wooden sword had hit, fingers touching the bent metal of his chestplate. Something incalculable had wielded that sword, strong and newly matured; anything on its face that was youthful and soft long since faded. Now Link seemed less a man and more an animal, or a machine; a weapon. Enzo had never feared anything so much in his life. Four months ago he'd begun his training with Link, along with several of his best men. At that time the man's innate strength and fury impressed them beyond words, the same as his inhuman, untrained stance had choked them with laughter.

So they taught him, at Sheik's request, how to stand, how to move, how to strike and parry. There were times when his overwhelming speed made the lessons frustrating, the swordsman convincing himself that his own flawed tactics were superior- as none could block them, but when they had finally drilled the techniques into his mind, he only improved, much to the chagrin of his sparring partners.

Within a month he'd learned enough to look indistinguishable from his elite teachers, and to defeat them as often as they did him, but only through raw power, he still lacked the finesse granted by decades of training. Only Enzo, far and away the greatest swordsman in the mountain, could consistently foil him, catching all the little flaws in his technique with his skilled eye. This changed within another month, at which point Enzo was the only one skilled enough to compete with Link, and the only one not afraid to cross swords with him, metal or not.

The others had been training him to dodge arrows, an idea that started as an elaborate joke over ale, delivered directly to the infirmary as the poor soldiers treated their wounds from the day's practice with Link. The joke caught Enzo's ear, and by the end of the third month the soldiers had been thanked for their help and dismissed back into their ranks, as not one among them could hope to hit Link in his sleep with a sword or a bow. Enzo had been as grateful for their dismissal as they had, for by the end of that fourth month, there was nothing more he could teach Link; and nothing else he could try to defeat him.

So instead he kneeled in the dirt, wounded and confused, and terrified of this animal he was supposed to train. Fifteen years? The winter was almost over, and by Spring Enzo was sure he'd be useless for such a task. Add to that the fact that the swordsman and the girl were essentially captives…

Enzo groaned. Before Link had arrived time meant little in the mountain village, only useful as an ephemeral marker of the distant war to come. Now it dragged along in a march of humbling days, each more painful than the last.

The captain touched his head to the ground, spent after only an hour of combat, and began to hate the Hero of Time.

* * *

Malon stood on top of the bar and whistled, stopping the chatter in the room immediately.

"Alright gentlemen, last call!"

The noise came back in a roar, and the final round went out.

After the last patron filtered out of the crowded bar, Malon collapsed onto a stool, legs sore from standing, and pulled out a little notebook and pen. "Hal, could you get the ink for me?"

The bartender set down the glass he was polishing and chuckled. "Back at it, dear?"

She yawned and flipped to the first blank page. "Always."

Moments later Hal appeared with a well of ink, and set it next to Malon's notebook. "You've got so many damn secrets in that book. I wouldn't be surprised if you knew more about this village than Sheik."

She frowned, scribbling down what she'd learned from the soldiers. "I don't, and that's just the problem. I don't know enough. I still don't know the truth."

Hal was puzzled. "What truth? We're the last of the resistance. We live in a volcano and we grow our food with the power of the Light Medallion. We have an oversized army and a bit of a population problem."

Malon kept writing. "Exactly, and part of that is Sheik's fault."

"Oh, Mal, come on. How's it Sheik's fault the first crop of Deku nuts didn't grow? Underground farming is new technology, if you weren't aware, and…"

"And I'm convinced that Sheik had a hand in that crop not turning out. Think about it: Deku nuts in the diet make it impossible to have children, and because of the overcrowding we put them in about everything we eat. They've been a staple for the past half-year, since the new crop came in… but that first harvest. He wanted it to fail, and because of that, almost every fertile girl older than 16 has a child."

"Yourself not included, of course."

"Shut up, Hal, this is serious."

He laughed and put an arm around her. "No, no! I mean it. You've been here four months, you flirt like it's in your blood- you've got every man that walks through those doors wrapped around your little finger. But you haven't bed _one _of them! Not even me!"

"Hal, you're old enough to be my father."

"That's beside the point!"

She groaned, and flipped her book shut. "First off, I flirt for information, not attention. Second, everyone who _does_ walk through those doors is a crude, horny soldier, and _third_..." She trailed off. "Third, you're just picking on me." She picked up her pen and reopened the notebook.

Hal thought for a moment, and then smiled triumphantly. "Don't you mean third, you're in love with the Hero of Time?"

Malon dropped her pen into the inkwell, turning red. "Where the hell did you hear that?!"

He laughed in her face and squeezed her close. "You're not the only one who knows secrets, my little spymaster." He laughed again, and then they sat in silence. Hal began to worry he'd gone too far. "S…sorry, Mal. But, you know… not everyone who comes in here is like that."

She glanced at him, confused.

"I'm not a soldier."

Now it was Malon's turn to laugh. Hal grinned sheepishly as she gave him a tight hug.

"Hal, you took me in, gave me the job I needed, and now you put up with my insane, theoretical detective work. You've been there for me."

He put a hand on her head. "Don't, Malon. You don't need to thank me. Now enough about conspiracies and Deku nuts. Take your book and go rest. You look exhausted."

She gave him another hug, thanked him again and gave him a kiss on the crown of his head before running through the door. He waved after her, watched her leave, and then sat alone in his bar, quietly staring at the wrinkles in his hands.

* * *

Malon absentmindedly wandered through the door to her home, and was startled to find Link sitting on his bed, next to hers.

"Link! You're early… I wasn't expecting you to be back for another week."

The training kept Link isolated, for the most part. When they let him wander the mountain they found him unfocused and confused. Now he returned for a day or so to his shared home with Malon every other week. They slept in a tiny room, separate beds crowded together, still fairly chic compared to the average living quarters afforded to the cramped villagers.

She embraced him and they fell back on his bed together, Link already half-asleep but waiting for Malon to come home. She laid her head on his chest, and nothing more was said.

It had been eighteen days since she'd first kissed him, eighteen days since she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his until he realized what she was doing. And he'd kissed her back, hungrily and immediately, and picked her up in his arms, and pushed her against the wall, and kept kissing, until her back began to bend, and he stopped kissing her lips and started biting her neck, harshly, like an animal, so that she began to bleed, and he wouldn't stop until she shrieked and struck him in the face.

Then he dropped her at once, and felt the warmth of blood on his lips and chin, and saw the same terrified look in her eyes as the day they'd met, then illuminated by a burning tree. He ran out of their shared home and disappeared for days, and all her anger was gone by then, because she'd realized that he was something more than he appeared in every conceivable way, and that whatever these men were doing to him was changing him.

Days from then, when he returned, it was with guilty eyes and a head hung low, until Malon took him in her arms and held him. For now, they resigned to waiting.

And so here they lay, suspended in sleep, somewhere in love, teetering on the line between fear and desire.

In her sleep, Malon murmured into Link's ribs.

"We have to… get out of here."

* * *

Dark here.

Mystery and intrigue! I'm sure you're all getting tired of Mount Deus Ex, so I think we'll be departing soon. I was very much afraid of writing myself into a corner with this Resistance arc, but I feel in retrospect it was critical to the story, and I think it's set us up perfectly for the real 'meat' of the tale. I'm very happy with the side-characters I've come up with, not including Malon, as she's basically turned into the heroine alongside Link.

I love her character at this point, but I don't know… the story is supposed to be about Link. Hm, hm.

Yes, Deku Nuts are birth control. Sue me. It fit the plot and it would explain why the post-pubescent Kokiri never had kids.

Might I just add that writing a mute character's dialogue is the hardest goddamn part of this story.

I'm going to have to do some radical things with Link as the plot continues. 'Silent badass' is pretty exclusively a game-compatible protagonist, so I better channel some Sergio Leone if I don't want my hero to get boring.

There haven't been any reviews since I came back to TF, and that's fine- I'm writing this for myself, mostly, but there's a decent amount of you reading, so you're all invited to sound off on some of the things I'm doing here.

The travel bug is defeated, and today's chapter is extra long to celebrate. I hope you enjoyed it.


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